


Season 5 Wish List

by irrevocably-johnlocked (AurielleDawn)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, post-S3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:56:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AurielleDawn/pseuds/irrevocably-johnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of little scenes set when the boys are finally together.  Some are written to be "on camera" and others are just little Happy Together at 221B drabbles.  They are in no particular order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Hudders walking in on John and Sherlock cuddling on the couch.

She had just come back from a trip to the grocery and had picked up some of John’s favorite chocolate biscuits. She kept telling them she wasn’t their maid, but she could never help spoiling them just a little. Especially now, with both of them back in the flat. It was just such a relief to have her boys home and finally settled. And if she indulged them a bit, well. Who was to mind?

She made some tea and set it out on the tray with the biscuits and then started up the stairs. They’d had a long few days, Sherlock having just finished a case, and she suspected John might like a bit of help on the domestic end of things. Sherlock was always such rubbish at all of that. 

As she walked into the 221B, she was about to call out, when a motion to her right caught her eye. She glanced toward the couch to see Sherlock raising a finger to his lips. He had craned his neck to look at her but was otherwise keeping still. His other arm was wrapped around John, who was laying across him, head resting on Sherlock’s chest and one hand curled around Sherlock’s shoulder. He was fast asleep, poor thing. 

She smiled at how sweet they looked and whispered, “I’ll just set this down,” moving towards the desk. 

Sherlock smiled softly in that way he usually reserved for John and said quietly, “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” 

John shifted and sighed, and Sherlock raised his hand to run over John’s hair, then settle on his back. She’d never seen him so peaceful, Sherlock with all his uncontrollable energy and frantic boredom. She just stared at them for a moment until Sherlock glanced back at her with a raised eyebrow. Something else? She shook her head and smiled again, heading out of the flat to leave them in peace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Them bickering about something silly/stupid but it ends with them doing some cute/coupley.

"For God’s _sake_ , John! It’s an _experiment_!” 

"You do realize you can’t just use that for an excuse to do absolutely anything you want, right?" John was standing in the kitchen, holding the tea pot, which contained the "experiment" in question. Something he didn’t really want to look at too carefully, because he was fairly certain it was some kind of human remains. 

Sherlock, who had popped out of his chair at John’s disturbance of said experiment, crossed his arms over his chest in a pout. ”I don’t see why not. It’s for science, John.” 

John just stared at him for a moment and then slammed the teapot down onto the stovetop. ”Well. That’s lovely. No tea for you then, I supposed.” He turned to stomp into the bedroom, and Sherlock considered these words for a moment. He was willing to admit, at least to himself, that he had overlooked the consequences to their tea routine in his excitement over the potential data. 

And now John was angry, and he _hated_ when John was angry. 

He sighed to himself and walked slowly to the bedroom door. John had thrown himself down on the bed on his back and was staring at the ceiling. Sherlock took a moment to consider his potential reception and then crawled onto the bed until he was draped on top of his boyfriend, who was resolutely not looking at him. 

"I’m sorry." He said it quietly, and John turned his head to meet his eyes, an eyebrow slightly raised. Sherlock sighed again. "I’m sorry I ruined tea this morning. I love it when you make me tea, and I can see that I may have…miscalculated with this particular experiment."

The corner of John’s mouth twitched, and he said, with mock severity, “Well. You’re going to have to make it up to me, obviously.”

Sherlock gave him a slow grin, looking up from under his lashes. He pitched his voice low, one of his best tactics for bringing John around to his side of something. ”And how would you propose I do that?” 

John shivered slightly and clenched his jaw, eyes dilating. Sherlock pulled himself up and brushed his lips against John’s, who tangled a hand in his hair and whispered against his mouth, “You’re going to buy me a new teapot.” 

Sherlock snorted a laugh and let his voice rumble between them. ”Yes, dear.” 

John rubbed their lips together slightly, still denying a kiss. He whispered even more softly, “And you’re going to take me to tea this morning.” 

Sherlock grinned and licked the corner of John’s mouth. ”Of course.” 

John tilted his head so he could nip at Sherlock’s ear and breathed, “But first you’re going to shag me senseless.”

Sherlock’s breath hitched, and pulled John’s hands off of him and pinned them to the bed above his head. He gave John a smile he was sure was predatory and dipped down to bite his pulse. ”Precisely the penance I was hoping for.”


	3. Enter Lestrade

The camera’s on Lestrade as he takes the stairs at Baker Street two at a time and strides up the hallway to 221B. When he reaches the door to the flat, he looks down and to his right, makes a face, and says, “Jesus! Would you two get a room?”

Pan to the wall above the couch, where John pops into view, looking sheepish and blushing. He runs a hand over his hair and shifts about, obviously straightening his trousers below the camera line. 

We hear Sherlock’s disembodied voice, sounding unimaginably bored. “We’re _in_ a room. Our _front_ room, to be precise.” He rises gracefully into view, ruffling his mussed hair and tugging at his cuffs to straighten his shirt while giving Lestrade a long-suffering look. His top two shirt buttons are open. John is trying not to smirk and failing, so he looks away and coughs a bit. 

“Please,” Sherlock continues sarcastically, buttoning his shirt as he walks over to Greg. “ _Do_ come in and make yourself at home. Tea?”

Greg glares at him. “You know, Mrs. Hudson could walk in here at any moment.”

“ _Mrs. Hudson_ ,” replies Sherlock with a note of distain, joining his hands behind his back, “Has learned the perils of storming up the stairs without warning, although she does it anyway with some frequency, from which I deduce that she enjoys the show.” He gives Greg a small, smug smile. 

John coughs into his hand behind Sherlock’s back, and Lestrade sighs, shaking his head.


	4. Upstairs Bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Mrs. Hudson scolding Sherlock and John and asking them to please use the upstairs bedroom.

“But, _really_ , Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson’s voice is high, pleading. She’s standing in the front room at 221B, ringing her hands and looking down at Sherlock, who is sitting his chair in a robe and plucking at the strings of his violin. 

“No,” he responds, shortly, clearly dismissing her. John walks out of the bathroom drying his hair.

“Um, what’s going on?” he asks. 

Mrs. Hudson turns to him and takes a step towards the kitchen. “John, _you_ understand, don’t you, dear?”

John leans forward slightly, clearly confused. “Understand what? Exactly?” He looks from Sherlock to Mrs. Hudson and back again. 

Sherlock heaves an enormous sigh and sets his violin aside. “ _Mrs. Hudson_ ,” he begins disapproving, glaring up at John, “Has requested that we make use of the upstairs bedroom if we’re planning to be… _energetic_.” John blanches slightly, eyes widening. “I told her it was out of the question.” Sherlock picks his violin back up and starts plucking petulantly. 

Mrs. Hudson turns back to John, obviously considering him the more reasonable candidate. “But, _really_ , John. I mean, I don’t mind so much during the day, but it _can_ be difficult to sleep wh—“

“Alright, Mrs. Hudson,” John interrupts quickly, taking her arm and walking her towards the door. “We’ll be sure to be more, um, _conscious_ of the time and our…um, energy level.” 

“We most certainly _will not_ ,” Sherlock states coldly, glaring daggers at them both.

John ignores him and deposits Mrs. Hudson at the door. “And, um. We’ll, uh, be sure to keep your suggestion of the upstairs bedroom in mind.” 

Sherlock storms to his feet. “John, have you gone mad? The upstairs bed— 

“Ok- _ay_ , Mrs. Hudson. Good day.” John actually closes the door to the flat, then covers his face with a his hands, shaking his head. Sherlock stands glaring at his back, arms crossed defiantly. When John turns around, Sherlock’s braced for a fight, but John takes one look at him and starts laughing. Sherlock’s lips twitch and his eyes crinkle, and then he’s chuckling softly.

He sits back down, grabbing his violin and bow and beginning to play a tune. “We are _not_ using the upstairs bedroom.” He says, flatly. John just ignores him and goes to make tea.


	5. Inappropriate Noises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: OR maybe a client/someone else is about to knock on their door, hears some /suggestive/ noises and awkwardly leaves, before the camera reveals that Sherlock and John were actually doing something completely innocent (or not, whatever).

“It’s just up here, dear.” Mrs. Hudson escorts a young lady up the stairs at Baker Street, reaching the top and walking her up the hall towards 221B. As usual, the door is open, and Mrs. Hudson is about to call out when she hears a noise. Both women stop, a few feet from a door, as rather energetic pounding and grunting sounds emanate from the flat. Their eyes widen, both wearing identical expressions of horror. Then they glance at one another, and Mrs. Hudson snaps out of it, turning to guide the potential client back down the stairs. “Perhaps another time would be better.” 

Cut to the interior of the flat, where John has a toilet plunger in a sink full of disturbingly pink water and Sherlock is calmly sitting at the table looking into his microscope. John turns to glare at him, but Sherlock doesn’t look up.

“Well, it’s so backed up, I can’t even dislodge it,” he says, fiercely. “And now I’m going to have to stick my hand _back_ down in there and fish around again!” Sherlock gives no indicator that he hears him, which just makes John angrier. “Sherlock, how many times have I told you not to put body parts down the garbage disposal? Have you _any_ idea how disgusting this is? Really?”

Sherlock sighs and finally looks up. “John, I have told you repeatedly that it was an accident. The fingers merely fell into the sink.”

“They fell into the sink and down the drain, and then _you_ turned on the garbage disposal rather than reaching in to fish them out.”

Sherlock stares at him mildly for a moment before going back to his microscope. “That is an accurate summary.” 

John reaches down into the garbage disposal and throws a soggy finger joint in Sherlock’s general direction.


	6. My Name Like a Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the only M-rated part of this collection so far. Just a little fluff scene, mid-coitus.

His movements are slow, torturous, throwing my head back, the feel of him inside of me almost more than I can bear. My arms are pinned above my head, and he leans in to capture my mouth, biting lightly, teasing, and I tease back until I can’t bear it, turning my head, inviting more. Then he melts against me, arms wrapping around my back, my freed hands tangling in his dark curls. The kiss deepens until it’s all aching need and exploration, burning through me until there’s nothing but him. Nothing but this moment. He runs a hand down my body, gripping my hip and shifting us so he hits that one spot, and I gasp, breaking the kiss. His eyes are like the ocean swallowed by a storm, dilated and unfocused, his breath brushing across my face, heart pounding against mine. He whispers my name like a prayer.

“ _John_.”

And the world is beautiful in ways I cannot explain.


End file.
